Remember
by child-ephemeral
Summary: Oneshot set soon after the most recent SunHill explosion. Unexpected visitors turn up at Smithy's hospital bedside.


Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, probably best, I dread to think what would happen if I owned Dale Smith ;)

Authors Notes: Set just after the most recent Sun Hill explosion. I'm not a doctor or the like, so apologies for medical inaccuracies.

And yes, I'm being evil to him.

Again

* * *

_"When someone dies young it's like they stay that way forever."  
_

His vision was hazy. Every muscle in his body ached. His chest burned with every breath, and he became aware of a tube in his mouth, travelling down into his throat. He fought the urge to retch as he grew accustomed to the sensation, instead concentrating on clearing his vision enough to understand where he was and what had happened to him. He was in a brightly lit room, and an incessant beeping noise punctuated his thoughts. By now he'd gathered enough presence of mind to realise he was in a hospital; but as to why he was there, he'd struggled to understand.

He still couldn't keep his eyes open, feeling like a lead weight dragged his lids back down. Every time he tried, they seemed to tighten; forcing his eyes shut and reverting him back into a comfortable darkness. Nothing made sense. His thoughts were muddled inside his head, each looping and whirling around one another and throwing his mind into disarray. Last thing he remembered was the van….and Ken…_oh god, Ken…_and then fire, burning hot, around him, within him. His chest tightened. Anticipating that he was probably pumped full of super-strength painkillers and extra anxiety wouldn't be helping his cause, he'd decided it was easier to stop thinking for the duration, and letting his eyelids drop, he drifted into unconsciousness once again.

* * *

A voice cut through the darkness like a knife, although soft and somehow familiar. He hadn't heard it for a long time but recognised it instantly. He could never forget the Scouse twang that peppered her words. He fought his eyes open, glimpsing a small figure hovering over him. He attempted to smile but the tube in his mouth made it difficult, and he didn't have the energy to keep trying. 

_Cass!_

"Y'alright luv?" She smiled down at him, still hazy to him, but he could make out her shape, a figure he'd recognise anywhere. He'd always had a crush on her, and had half suspected it was mutual but respected her friendship too much to ever make a move, although he'd never have told her that. He'd had a reputation to uphold.

"What's happened to you? You never call, you never write! And promotion, you never thought to look me up did ya?" She tutted, laughing in the same way that had always set him off, especially when they were paired together.

His eyelids drooped, as he fought the urge to close them. He'd missed her, and didn't want her to stop talking to him. He smiled to himself as best he could, as his eyelids became too heavy for him and he lapsed back into sleep.

* * *

He was fitful as he slept, the aching within him too painful to ignore, and the constant to-ing and fro-ing of nurses distracted him. He couldn't see them, but could hear them as they milled about, checking machines, checking on him. He felt the cold rush through his veins as they pushed more medication into him. Through his disordered thoughts, he'd figured they were keeping him sedated, just before fatigue would kick in and drag him back to unconsciousness.

* * *

He roused again, although he couldn't tell whether it was minutes later or if several days had passed. A sensation flitted into his mind, taking him moments to register what he was feeling. Someone was stroking his hand. The touch was gentle, tender, and it made him feel safe somehow. Straining to open his eyes, he could make out a figure sat beside his bed. She smiled at him in response. He couldn't have mistaken her caress if he'd tried, and seeing her at his side comforted him. He tried to speak, momentarily forgetting the tube in his windpipe, the wave of pain that shot through him forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut in response. Panic gripped him, what if he opened his eyes again and she wasn't there? As soon as he could muster the strength, he opened them wide enough to see the figure was still there, now gripping his hand as tightly as she could. _Kerry..._ He mouthed, his lip bleeding as the chapped skin cracked with the movement. She nodded, smiling gently.

"Sleep now..." she whispered, stroking his forehead, smiling sadly down at him. He shook his head as forcefully as he could manage. He couldn't remember why he'd missed her so much, and didn't want her to go away again.

"You're not doing too well..." she paused, stroking his cheek. "You have a fever and the doctors are worried about you." He couldn't help thinking even through his blurred vision, that she looked more beautiful than he remembered.

"You need to rest now, you're not ready yet..." She moved slowly, kissing his forehead lightly. Her touch had made him drowsy, his eyes drifting closed as she spoke. Her words faded in and out of his mind. _You're not ready..._ He struggled to grasp what she meant, not realising he was slipping back into the oblivion of a deep sleep.

* * *

"Charging to 200…CLEAR!" 

A shrill tone sounded, drowning out the hubbub of the ward.

Doctors gathered around the bed, working frantically on a form that they felt might have already given up. The young man had drifted in and out of life for days; his stirrings giving the staff hope that he was coming out of his coma. But then he'd been struck down by a second infection, and it seemed to have already drawn the last ounce of fight out of him.

* * *

"Charging again…200…CLEAR!" 

Figures stood at the window, gazing in on the commotion within the room. One had her hand clasped to her mouth in horror at what she saw before her. Another stood slightly apart, fist clenched tightly in frustration as much at the man as at what she saw before her.

"Come on...come on..." she whispered, almost so quietly as not to be heard, "Fight...you have to fight this!"

* * *

"Charging…360…CLEAR!" 

The doctors were tiring and so was he. The life seemed to be slipping from him, and the make or break moment approached. His body was broken, but they were adamant he was still with them, and refused to give up without the fight he deserved.

* * *

"Still in VF…360…CLEAR!" 

Suddenly the shrillness of the alarm stopped, replaced by a constant rhythmic beep, and the mood both in and outside of the room brightened.

"Sinus rhythm. We've got him back."

* * *

His eyes shot open. He was still tired, and felt like he'd been booted full force in the chest, but he was more awake than he'd been in as long as he could remember. He instantly recognised the form of the Inspector at his bedside, moving his lips to voice acknowledgement but suddenly remembering the presence of the intubation tube. He moved his hand up to his mouth with a newfound strength, indicating to the nurse he was ready to have it removed. Quickly scanning his notes, she nodded, guiding him through the process before warning him not to speak too much too quickly. 

"Glad to have you back in the land of the living, Sergeant Smith. You had us worried for a moment." The relief on Gina's face was evident. "Just don't go making a habit of it. I like my officers fully conscious, thank you!"

Smithy smiled back. His throat still raw, he thought carefully about what he would say, whispering softly.

"They came to see me."

"Who? The relief? Of course they did, they've been worri-"

Carefully forming the words, he interrupted. "Cass came. And Kerry."

Gina frowned. "Smithy...they can't have."

Confusion clouded his features. He nodded fervently as his words stuck in his throat. "They did."

She reached out, stroking his arm as compassionately as she could manage.

"Smithy. You must have been dreaming. They're dead. You know they are."


End file.
